


Together

by mbe



Series: To The Stars [3]
Category: Interstellar (2014)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Backstory, F/M, Forced Bonding, Slow Build, Unhealthy Relationships, ish?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 16:19:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18553357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mbe/pseuds/mbe
Summary: Once safely on Edmunds, Dr. Mann must make peace with his past...and with the only other person on the planet.Alternate ending to Interstellar (2014).





	1. Chapter 1

Amelia Brand wasn’t sure what to think as she, Romilly and Dr. Mann approached planet Edmunds’ atmosphere. With Cooper—the only one who’d known how to fly this ship—gone, and CASE able to simply chart a course to Edmunds and let the autopilot take over, she hadn’t had to think about how they got there. But she’d had plenty to think about how she would feel when they finally arrived.

Dr. Mann had kept to himself much of the voyage, but it was clear from his eyes that he was ecstatic to be off that ice planet. He frequently kept his gaze on the pitch-black sky, literally staring at nothing, as if every mile they flew further from his world was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him.

Amelia couldn’t blame him, really—after 33 years, alone, on a giant block of ice, she’d have been happy to leave too—but ever since she’d come to the conclusion that Cooper’s death had not been the accident Dr. Mann had claimed it was, something about his giddiness unsettled her. She was also pretty certain Dr. Mann had faked his data about his planet just to get someone to rescue him. Amelia was aware of the reality of isolation on another human being—and that Dr. Mann had likely acted impulsively, out of desperation—but…

It was indeed true that she had wanted to go to Edmunds and not Mann…but now, heading there without Cooper, going there because Dr. Mann had wanted to…it didn’t feel right. They had made enormous, horrific sacrifices to get there. Not to say that she had not been willing to make sacrifices to see Wolf again, but she certainly didn’t condone murder, and did not want her crew member’s death to be the reason she got to where she’d wanted to go.

For the Dr. Mann she’d known back on Earth to kill another human being, he would have had to be severely affected by the mission, by the isolation. And if it had affected Dr. Mann that badly, what would it have done to Wolf?

Amelia wanted to confront Dr. Mann about the whole thing, but what good would it do? There were no courts, no justice systems on an uninhabited planet. She needed him for this mission, and angering him was not going to help anything.

The thought of the system of courts made her realise how she had taken so much for granted back on Earth—schools, hospitals, even the government—and the centuries it would take to re-establish such institutions on Edmunds. She likely wouldn’t even be alive to see much of it rebuilt.

She sighed. She didn’t have to think about that now—she had to focus on the task in front of her. And that task was Plan B: colonising Edmunds. The ten embryos to be incubated upon their landing. With Dr. Mann and Romilly, the three could probably handle half of those ten—and there was always the possibility that Wolf would be alive to help them…

Amelia had recently realised that she’d never considered him alive or dead. He was more like something in between, switching from one to the other. She almost viewed him as a missing loved one: clueless about whether he was living or dead, but always making her decisions based on the former. Desperate to ease the agony of not knowing, but still not wanting the truth if it was not what she wanted to hear.

She still loved Wolf, but was it the same love as all those years ago? Distance may very well make the heart grow fonder, but what about space and time? If the isolation had destroyed the person Dr. Mann had been, what would it have done to the person she’d fallen in love with, who’d stay up nights before mission training just to be with her, sneaking love notes at work disguised as ‘important memos’?

Amelia looked over where Dr. Mann was sitting. He was still staring out of the window. For a moment she felt sadness, pity for him, for what this mission had done to him, all in the name of the human race.

But her anger for what he had done—had done to save himself—overpowered her feelings of compassion. Or did it? He had had no family; who was there to save but himself…?

“Atmospheric entry in 60-120 seconds,” CASE informed the crew, breaking Amelia’s train of thought.

The entry was bumpy, rocking the ship violently, as it had with the entry into Mann’s atmosphere. But unlike Dr. Mann’s planet, Edmunds lacked the frozen, fissured clouds; Amelia could make out what seemed to be sand or dirt on the surface as they approached the ground, and splashes of colour resembling…water?

Her heart raced. This…this could work. This could be where she’d end her days, completing the mission she’d set out to do.

And this would be where she’d learn the truth about Wolf.


	2. Chapter 2

Mann had not allowed himself to relax until he felt the Ranger land on solid ground. Still worried about Romilly and Amelia discovering the truth, about his planet, about Cooper, he’d been terrified of them abandoning him on that ice planet as retribution. But every mile, every inch they drew closer to Edmunds was one further from his prison for those three decades, and he wasn’t going to stop worrying until the crew could not abandon him, where he would not have to be alone. He would be safe, on a viable world.

Then again, there was the chance that Wolf Edmunds having faked _his_ data too…but Mann realised that was unlikely. Edmunds had expressed fear of the mission to Mann, but after some reassurance, mustered the courage to go through with it. No, Edmunds had been loyal to the mission, and would not have falsified data just to have someone come save him. Mann had to admit to himself, however, that he almost wished Edmunds had faked his data, too—it would make Mann feel less guilty about doing it himself, even if Edmunds would have had a reason to want rescuing—the chance of seeing Amelia Brand again.

Mann had known for a while before his departure from Earth that the two scientists had had feelings for one another. After seeing the pair sit closer than normal to each other during meetings, watching Edmunds shoot shy smiles towards a blushing Amelia, it was hard to miss—you didn’t need a fancy degree to realise they were in love.

This had displeased Mann. The rules of the mission had been to have absolutely no attachments to anyone on Earth, and Edmunds had broken those rules. Mann had, after Professor Brand had recruited him for the Lazarus Missions, made certain to not become close to anyone; he knew the chances of getting attached to another person was dangerous, emotionally and psychologically, for him.

In retrospect, isolating himself from everyone else had probably hurt him more than it had helped. Edmunds may have violated the first rule of the Lazarus Missions, but at least he’d had someone worth surviving for, someone worth faking data for. Mann had had no one, and that had only amplified his feelings of despair all those years on the ice planet, with no one to keep him motivated but his own survival instinct. He’d told himself before leaving Earth that he was prepared to die; but reality was different.

It was funny, now, looking back on it. Most people’s problems are caused by other people, but Mann’s were created by a lack of them.

At least he was no longer alone. He had Romilly, and Amelia. And maybe even Edmunds.

As the Ranger landed, Mann breathed a sigh of relief, his body slowly becoming less tense. He fixed his eye on the landscape of the planet outside his window, seeing for the first time in years, actual soil. _Terra firma_. He saw rocks, and clear sky, with no ammonia-laden clouds to obliterate the light and heat coming from the black hole Gargantua’s accretion disk.

For a moment upon landing, no one spoke. It was the crew’s final chance to save the human race; it was this or nothing. From the outside, Edmunds’ planet was promising. Data-wise, it looked excellent.

But then again, so had his.


	3. Chapter 3

Amelia stepped out onto the soft earth slowly, as if the ground would cave in under her feet. And, after two planets explored and found to be unsuitable for human life, who was to say it wouldn’t? But the ground supported her weight, and she found the gravity pleasant. “90% Earth gravity,” TARS informed her, making his way to her side. She looked out at the horizon, the sky a bright orange from Gargantua’s accretion disk glowing in the distance.

“Edmunds’ beacon is this way,” TARS said, beginning to walk in front of Amelia.

“I’ll be right there,” she replied, walking back towards the Ranger where Dr. Mann and Romilly stood.

“Dr. Mann,” she said, “I’d like you to come along with me. Your field deals with data analysis, and if we find Wolf’s—Edmunds’ data, I’ll need someone to help analyze it.”

Dr. Mann nodded. “Of course,” he said, and began walking in TARS’s direction.

When he was out of earshot, Romilly turned to Amelia. “Look,” he began. “I’m convinced Dr. Mann faked that data to get off the planet, and he’s only telling us to stay out of the archives for that reason. I want to continue trying to access the archive. Just to know the truth.”

Romilly turned to look inside the Ranger, where KIPP lay. They’d brought the dismantled robot along, if anything, for his power source. Amelia was reluctant to agree to it—she knew Dr. Mann would not take well to being confronted with the truth—but she also knew that this would answer one of the many questions rolling around in her head. It was one thing to make Dr. Mann admit to making up some data sets; it was another entirely to accuse him of murder.

“Okay,” she finally agreed, and Romilly walked inside to start working on his task. With that taken care of, Amelia ran off to catch up with Dr. Mann and TARS.

She wasn’t afraid of Dr. Mann. If her hypothesis was correct, he’d only acted out of a desire to live, to not be alone. He had achieved both those goals, so there was no need to go on any killing spree; there was no reason for him to harm her.

And…he’d liked her, hadn’t he? Respected her, at least. He’d welcomed and encouraged her thoughts and opinions on his work, treating her as an equal, even when she was just finishing her undergraduate degree as he had obtained his doctorate.

She wondered briefly if Dr. Mann had ever wanted to become attached to anyone, and his dedication to the mission had simply prevented him from doing so. He’d known of Wolf’s love for her; had he been envious? Angry that his colleague had not appeared as invested and prepared as he was?

Dr. Mann had not told her father. That was not like him; he was always bluntly honest. Had he finally learned to respect Wolf’s choice? Maybe even wished he could’ve had what Wolf had?

 _Wolf_. The more she thought about him, the sicker she felt. Anxiety, nervousness at what she would find. The closer she got to his beacon, she more she felt she’d been happy not knowing the truth, and how sometimes blissful ignorance was better than the painful reality.

At least with not knowing, there was always the possibility of Wolf being alive.


	4. Chapter 4

Mann could make out a tattered flag in the distance, maybe fifty metres away. As he approached it, he realised it was identical to the one back on his planet: LAZARUS, in big orange letters, on a black background, two orange circles representing Earth and humanity’s new home.

That was where Edmunds’ lay. In cryosleep? Probably. Alive? Who knew.

Mann looked over at Amelia, who hadn’t said much since the landing. She didn’t look at him, keeping her gaze on the horizon. “I see it,” she suddenly blurted out. “The flag. His flag.” She pointed to a rock pile near where the flag stood.

Amelia began running, trying to catch up to TARS, who was a good ten metres ahead. Mann, not knowing what else to do, followed her example until he had caught up with them.

TARS finally stopped in front of the flag. In front of it sat a large rock pile, a good twelve feet of boulders and stones towering over the two astronauts. The flag flew gently in the wind.

“Edmunds’ beacon was coming from here,” TARS told them. “Shall I begin digging?”

“Yes,” Amelia said, her voice barely audible.

Mann looked over at her. She removed her helmet, probably without thinking, and he reached over to stop her when he saw her sigh. This air was breathable, he remembered. Because Edmunds had said so. Because Edmunds hadn’t been lying. Edmunds was honest and loyal to this mission.

Mann felt himself dry heave at the thought of having done the very thing he’d spent years trying not to do: fake the data. He hadn’t wanted to. He’d resisted that temptation the entire time he’d been awake on that planet. But he’d been alone for so long…and he’d wanted so desperately to live.

He’d gotten his wish, hadn’t he? But at what cost?

Suddenly he saw TARS dig out a piece of what seemed to be metal—the same metal the Lazarus landing crafts were made from. Mann looked over and saw some rocks fall near where TARS stood. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened, and it was even more obvious what had happened to Edmunds. Why his beacon had stopped signalling years ago. But as Mann looked at Amelia, he didn’t think she was taking in the reality of what had occurred.

“Do you see his cryochamber?” she asked TARS, who was still digging.

“Not yet, Dr. Brand.”

“Amelia,” Mann began gently, “you know what…you know the truth.”

“No,” she whispered. “No, we don’t. Those—those cryosleep chambers are tough. He could still—.”

“Amelia.”

“Dr. Brand?” TARS interrupted. “I’ve uncovered what seems to be Edmunds’ cryosleep chamber.” He extended one of his arms to point to a large, white metal box. It eerily resembled an oversized coffin, Mann realised, and judging by current circumstances it was tragically fitting.

“Do you wish for me to open it?” TARS asked.

“Yes,” Amelia breathed, walking slowly towards the wreckage.

TARS fiddled with the chamber for a moment, then pried open the top, which had been fixed shut; the damage done to it had been too much for it to open normally. Amelia bent over to peer inside, and then tore open the plastic enveloping Edmunds’ body. Mann could barely make out Edmunds’ features from where he stood, but it was very clear that this was who they’d been looking for.

Amelia laid her hand gently over Edmunds’ damp, pale face, as if he would suddenly awaken by the touch of her hand. Mann saw Amelia’s face fall, reality finally setting in as Edmunds did not move from that chamber.

“It appears that the chamber’s power source was destroyed,” TARS informed her. “Probably from the rockslide.”

“I know,” she replied monotonously, her gaze fixed on Edmunds’ lifeless body. She bit her lip and nodded. “I know.”

Mann walked over to where she stood. “You knew…we knew that this outcome was the most likely…it was—.”

“That doesn’t mean I was ready to face it,” she shot back, using the back of her hand to wipe the tears that were starting to fall.

“Of course not,” Mann replied gently. “Of course not. But you knew. We all did.”

Amelia did not reply, still staring at Edmunds’ chamber as if he was still just sleeping. “It’s just…I knew he was dead, but…not knowing for certain hurt me. And now…knowing he’s gone… that hurts even more.”

She broke down at that moment, a display of emotion Mann had only seen Amelia Brand express once before, all those months back when Cooper had died.

He recalled how Cooper had held him upon his awakening, when the sight of another human had overwhelmed him, when he’d broken into heavy, relieved sobs, how Cooper had gently, soothingly stroked his back, whispering over and over how it was okay, that he was safe, that it was all over.

Thinking about the past, about Cooper’s kindness…it was torture for Mann. But it made him realise what he needed to do now, for Amelia.

He carefully, delicately wrapped his arms around her, almost expecting her to recoil. But she didn’t, and leaned in to place her head on his chest, letting the tears come. Mann gently rubbed her back, remembering how Cooper had done the same for him when he’d needed it. The thought of Cooper nauseated Mann and he felt himself overcome with emotion. Perhaps it was remorse; perhaps the discovery of the body of his only remaining colleague. Maybe a combination of everything he’d been through. But whatever it was, Mann allowed himself to cry, along with Amelia, who still clung to him, her head buried in his shoulder.

He wasn’t sure how long they’d been there when he heard the explosion in the distance.


	5. Chapter 5

Amelia had not expected, or wanted, comfort from Dr. Mann. She had promised herself to be as professional as possible while executing the mission: Plan B. But being the one to open Wolf’s cryochamber, to see his delicate features caressed by the water, his face void of life, was simply too much for her. Not to mention that it had brought back memories of that day on Mann, when she’d been the one to find and carry onto the ship Cooper’s body, the one to try, in vain, to revive him.

She had known, deep down, that Wolf would be dead, just as that same part of her knew Dr. Mann had killed Cooper. But her mind had not been ready to accept Wolf’s death, and it was not ready for NASA’s most respected astronaut to be revealed as a murderer.

She didn’t want comfort from Dr. Mann, comfort from anyone, really, but who else could she turn to? It was human nature to seek security in times of distress, and here was someone offering it. So she accepted it, and it soothed her, having someone’s arms wrapped around her for the first time in years. It calmed her, allowed her to breathe.

Suddenly, she felt the ground rumble, and she heard the sound of an explosion somewhere in the desert. Amelia broke away from Dr. Mann’s arms and turned around, seeing the fire and smoke rising into the sky.

She then realised it was where they’d landed the Ranger.

Where Romilly was.

Her heart sank.

“Romilly?” she shouted into her transmitter, trying to reach him via radio. “Are you alright? Romilly?”

There was no reply, only static. “Can you get a hold of him?” Dr. Mann asked. She could hear the anxiety in his voice, and all of a sudden her mind remembered Dr. Mann’s warning to stay out of KIPP’s archives.

Was his concern out of fear that she’d discover he knew something about this?

Or for Romilly’s life? Or both?

“No,” Amelia finally answered Dr. Mann, grimly. She began to run to the Ranger, silently praying she had not lost yet another companion.

 

Mann had spent many a day creating the ‘security mechanism’ for KIPP’s archives. No one was going to find out the truth about that data. So he’d locked the archives, and if anyone was smart enough to find a way around that, he’d rigged KIPP to self-destruct, should anyone go prying. Like Romilly, ostensibly, had.

It could not be possible for Mann to lose two companions in one day? First confirmation of Edmunds’ death, now Romilly. Being with other people, to Mann, was as precious, if not more, than food or water. He was starved for company.

He hadn’t wanted Romilly to die. That was why he’d told him to stay out of the archival functions. But he hadn’t listened. Had Amelia Brand insisted on this? Or at the very least allowed it?

Was she suspicious of him?

As TARS and CASE worked to extinguish the fire raging on the dry earth, Mann looked at Amelia, staring at the flames. “What…what happened?” she asked out loud to no one in particular.

Mann paused for a moment. At this point, what did he have to lose in telling her? It was now just him and Amelia Brand. They were on a viable exoplanet, safely away from that frozen wasteland. They needed each other to complete this mission. She would be hurt, angry, but she wouldn’t stay that way forever.

Or, at least, he hoped.

“He…he went into the archives,” Mann told her, swallowing hard, his voice barely audible.

“What?” she replied, confused. “I don’t—I—.”

“I faked that data. There…there was no way to support life there. And…I—I didn’t want anyone else to know…so I—.”

“You…rigged KIPP. Set it up to kill anyone who went looking. You…killed Romilly…” she said slowly, as the reality dawned on her. Her voice rose as she put the pieces together.

“I didn’t—I didn’t want anyone to get hurt,” Mann went on, babbling helplessly at this point. But he knew any attempts to defend himself were futile; it was right there, that he had killed Romilly, indirectly or not.

He _hadn’t_ wanted anyone to get hurt. He’d simply not wanted anyone to know what he’d done. That he’d failed the mission in every way possible. That he’d done all of this for himself.

“You…fucking…selfish…” Amelia seethed, her teeth clenched. “… _coward_.” She spat the word at him. “I…how…”

“Please, Amelia,” Mann begged, now regretting telling her what he’d done. “You knew me all those years ago. I wanted to complete the mission. I still do. But…the loneliness…it just, it got to me—.”

“It got to everyone, Dr. Mann!” she shouted, her eyes filling with tears. “It got to me, it got to Cooper, it got to Romilly, and you can bet your ass it got to Wolf!” She pointed angrily to the desert where they’d found Edmunds’ body. “The difference is that Wolf wasn’t selfish enough to fake his data!”

“Amelia, please—.”

“At least Wolf cared about somebody,” she went on, her voice significantly quieter. She shook her head sadly. “He didn’t only want to live to save his cowardly ass.”

 _Coward._ It was what Cooper had called him, what he’d slowly grown to accept he was. How many people had died because of him? How far had he gone, and for what? To live, to not be alone another day?

And now, safely on Edmunds, his goal of survival and companionship achieved, reality began to sink in. That planet had tested him, pushed him to do things he’d never have thought himself capable of back on Earth. He’d done awful, selfish things. Things he didn’t want to remember doing.

“You’re right, Amelia,” Mann finally said. “I am a coward.”

He bit his lip, staring at the dying flames before them. “That doesn’t mean I’m proud of it.”


	6. Chapter 6

Amelia and Dr. Mann had set up habitat shortly after the fire had been extinguished. They did not speak to one another, Amelia’s anger at the scientist burning inside of her.

If he had not faked that data, would they have bothered going to his planet? Would there have been a chance Romilly, and Cooper, and maybe even Wolf, would have lived?

Each ‘habitat’ was composed of a sturdy tent-like structure, equipped with a cot, lantern, and small stove with which to cook. Plan B had also included the planting of a myriad of seeds from Earth, to recreate the various crops from back home, along with the main goal: populating Edmunds.

Her father, Professor Brand, had sent the Endurance crew along with modules designed to incubate ten fertilised embryos for nine months. Once those children reached the age of maturity, surrogacy could be used with other fertilized embryos to impregnate them, and, slowly but surely, a colony would form over generations.

Amelia sighed as she thought about the tasks at hand. She’d certainly need Dr. Mann’s help, and she knew part of the mission was going to involve working with him. But at this moment, she certainly didn’t want to think about that. Not after what he’d confessed to doing. To save himself and only himself.

Then again, who else did he have to save?

It wasn’t as though his survival instinct could extend to anyone but himself. Cooper had had his kids to fight to live for, and she could fight for her life in order to see Wolf again and fulfill her father’s dream, but Dr. Mann had had no one.

As she removed her spacesuit to settle down for the night, she recalled an instance, back on Earth, where the Lazarus astronauts had decided to indulge a little and have a party to celebrate their final Christmas on Earth. She remembered laughing and talking at ease with the others, with Wolf as inconspicuously as possible by her side, when she’d realised Dr. Mann was not there.

Curious, she’d excused herself and walked down the hallway to his office, where his door was ajar.

She’d pushed it open and saw him at his desk, furiously writing something down.

“Dr. Mann?” she’s finally said, and he looked up at her. “Why aren’t you with everyone else?”

“Can’t see why we’re using resources on this party,” he replied. “I just…I just don’t see what the point is. Why do I want to get attached to people I’ll never see again more than I need to?”

“Because,” she’d answered immediately, without thinking, “sometimes all it takes is one person in your life worth remembering.”

He’d laughed a little, more so to acknowledge her comment. “I’ll certainly remember you, Amelia Brand.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly that,” he’d replied. “You just told me all it takes is one person to remember. Well, what makes it so you can’t be that person?”

“Yes, but—.”

“You’re smart, Amelia. Very smart. Sharp wit. Quick to question things,” Dr. Mann had gone on. “You’re the type of person I want to remember when I’m up there. Out there.”

Dr. Mann had always been blunt, forthcoming, but this was something new entirely. He was never one to discuss emotions, and it almost confused Amelia. Was he complimenting her? Making an objective statement? She’d had no idea.

“Well…thank you, Dr. Mann,” she’d finally said. “I’ll guess I’ll leave you to…whatever it is you’re up to.”

“You don’t have to,” he’d said. “Your opinions on my work are always welcome.”

“What is it you’re doing?”

“Calculating the effects Gargantua’s pull will have on my planet’s orbit,” he’d said.

She remembered how she’d sat down beside him, working out that the black hole’s gravitational pull would give the planet an elliptical orbit. She remembered how he’d genuinely seemed to enjoy her company, how he’d actually appeared happy to be with another person.

Had he actually been isolated his whole life, and the time on the planet had simply amplified the effects of his solitude? Amelia knew very well that, no matter what, solitude could destroy a person...but what if that person had been broken by solitude already?

It might make him act in ways he’d never thought imaginable.

Such as falsifying data just to have someone with him again.

“…Amelia?” she heard outside of her habitat, disbanding her thoughts.

“Dr. Mann.” She sat up in her bed. “Come in.”

He did so, and he looked at her, pursing his lips as if he was struggling to find the words to speak. “I can’t do it,” he finally blurted out. “I can’t…I can’t spend another night alone. I know you’re…angry, I know you’re hurt. But please…just—just let me bring that cot in here.”

Amelia realised she probably wouldn’t have said yes if she hadn’t spent the last half hour reflecting on the reasons Dr. Mann could have possibly done what he’d admitted to doing. She tried to imagine what it would be like to finally, for the first time in years, be able to sleep soundly, knowing that when you awoke someone would be with you, that you’d see another face, and then recognised that she couldn’t. She could not picture what it was like to be Dr. Mann. And that scared her.

“Go get your bed,” she finally said. “It’s fine.”


	7. Chapter 7

Mann’s first reaction upon awakening was to brace himself for the cold as he had every morning back on the ice planet. Then brace himself for another day of solitude.

He blinked, confused at first as to where he was. He felt warm, turned around in bed, and saw the blank, pale walls of the tent, and remembered. The mission; the journey here with Amelia and Romilly; finding Edmunds, dead…Romilly…KIPP’s self-destruction…

How Amelia had let him sleep in her tent, even after he’d admitted to causing Romilly’s death.

Amelia Brand wanted so badly to do the right thing, the objectively good thing, and yet her emotions often got in the way. She’d have certainly never agreed, under normal circumstances, to let Mann sleep in her tent after what he’d confessed to doing, regardless of whether it was the ‘right thing’ to let him or not.

But these weren’t normal circumstances. They were alone, on some strange world, having to carry out a mission to colonise an entire planet.

They’d have to bury Edmunds’ body at some point, too, Mann realised. It was the right thing to do: Edmunds had been the one to save the human race, the one to find a hospitable world. He deserved proper respect, in death as in life.

Mann sat up and saw Amelia’s empty bed. Puzzled, and admittedly a bit unsettled by being alone even for a moment, he pushed the blankets off of himself and hurried outside.

In the distance he could make out a small figure and realised Amelia must be at Edmunds’ landing site. He began to walk towards her.

As he approached the site, Mann wondered if he should leave her alone; if she perhaps wanted some time in private to say good bye. However, as he got closer, he could see that Amelia had buried Edmunds herself: a long, short rock pile lay in front of her, similar to what they’d done back on Mann’s planet with Cooper’s body.

Amelia knelt in front of the rock pile, staring straight at it. Mann wondered if she knew he was there and, as if reading her mind, she stood up with her back still to him and spoke. “It’s funny,” she began, shaking her head sadly. “All this time…I knew Wolf was gone. And had been a long time. And yet I told myself I’d do whatever it took to get here, to find him, just to see him again. My instincts told me to come here, on this mission. At the risk of death to myself, because I needed to know.”

She turned around to look at Mann. “My survival instinct extended to Wolf because I loved him and needed to survive, just to see him again,” she said, smiling dejectedly. “And…it’s no different for you, Dr. Mann. Because how do you survive for someone if you have no one worth surviving for but yourself?”

Mann looked at Amelia, her gentle, soft eyes gazing into the distance, looking at nothing in particular, lost in thought, her expression unreadable. He wondered what she was thinking, and realised then how much he’d really missed her while on the ice planet, her logical yet poignant views on the broad, vast topics of love, of humanity, of survival. Mann had thought himself a monster, the selfish coward that Cooper and, yes, Amelia had referred to him as; yet here Amelia was, telling him the opposite, reminding him of the complexity of the human psyche.

Instead of answering her rhetorical question, Mann decided to respond with one of his own. Something that had eaten away at him ever since the crew of the Endurance had landed on his planet, all those months ago.

“Do you…do you ever wish you’d just gone to Edmunds? And skipped my planet entirely?”

She sighed, blowing air from her cheeks as if to buy herself some time to think about the answer. “No,” she finally said. “Because Wolf would probably still be dead. And because I’d be left wondering if we could have saved you or if your planet would have been better. And I’d have too many unanswered questions. The answers I have now might not be the ones I want, but at least I have them.”

All of that might be true, Mann thought, but Amelia still didn’t have one of the answers: what had really happened to Cooper. Regardless about whether she was suspicious or not—knowing her, he didn’t doubt she wondered—she didn’t have the truth. And he wasn’t ready to give it to her.

Here he was, being told she could understand his hunger for companionship, but would she understand the lengths he’d gone to obtain that companionship?

He couldn’t be sure. And having the only other person on a planet angry at him was not what he wanted.


	8. Chapter 8

Amelia recalled the day she’d first met Everet Mann, the day her father had brought her to NASA to begin studying there. She’d been 18, Dr. Mann maybe 25, and well on his way to obtaining his doctorate. Her father had often spoken of him, describing a highly intelligent and determined individual who had his heart set on saving the human race. She remembered not knowing how to picture him; the stereotypical, scrawny, geeky student; or the too-old-for-his-years kid scholar? She almost imagined him as a man her father’s age based on descriptions of him.

She’d met him in person on the first day of her studies. Her father had eagerly introduced him; she was his “bright and eager little girl,” Dr. Mann his “very best,” his “protégé.”

Amelia remembered being surprised by his appearance: a strong, tall, fit man, bright blue eyes filled with determination, his hair tousled as if he hadn’t bothered to fix it that morning, so eager was he to get back to his studies.

He’d shaken her hand firmly, smiling at her, saying he’d heard so any good things about her…

But Amelia had barely heard his words, so focused was she on the way he was saying them. He sounded distant, this entire conversation rehearsed, so that he was merely a character putting on an act. He didn’t seem happy; not to meet her, nor in general.

She’d left that encounter wondering how someone so bright, so intelligent, could be so sad.

Now, here on Edmunds, that memory was coming back, and it helped her to realise why he’d seemed so dejected that day:  he didn’t want to become attached to her. He knew in just five or six years’ time he’d be leaving this planet, and he could not have connections to anyone he couldn’t bear to never see again.

He’d always been very distant and cold for this reason. It didn’t impact his intelligence—if anything, it had helped him, at least at first, leaving his home planet behind—but now, permanently on _this_ planet, where he’d need to help her in raising the Plan B kids, it would not serve him well. Dr. Mann needed to be able to connect with her, not to mention the children who would have no one else. She needed him to get close to her: he was her only source of company, and vice versa.

She wondered if he even knew how to connect with other people, so long had he been isolated.

 

“Dr. Mann,” Amelia began that evening as they ate supper together, “I’d like to set up those modules tomorrow. To begin incubating the embryos.”

“Alright,” he nodded. “Did you want help?”

“I’ll need help to unload those modules,” she replied, “but…I need to know…how many children we—we think we can handle at once.”

Amelia realised the awkwardness of such a question as the words passed her lips, how odd and personal it was. It was something she thought she’d one day be asking Wolf, not Dr. Mann.

But time and space had changed things.

Dr. Mann seemed to realise it, too, because it took him a minute to respond. Finally, he sighed and looked at her. “Start with two,” he said, “one for each of us. Females, actually. Then we can use surrogacy to impregnate them when they reach age of maturity, and repeat this process.”

Amelia was not surprised by the logic in Dr. Mann’s explanation; it was part of his character. But something about it bothered her, made her uncomfortable. She didn’t want logic now. She wanted emotion—raw, open emotion, something from him, something more than this purely work-based relationship. She needed it, as a human being accustomed to being with others.

She realised then that she missed them, Cooper, Doyle and Romilly; they’d been her source of support and friendship throughout the mission; now they were all gone. And Dr. Mann could not do that, for he had not had any of that when he’d gone on his mission. How could you give something you’d never received?

Amelia knew that if Dr. Mann could not form a bond with her, he could not do that with the children. Plan B could not be completed purely with science and reason; it needed a human aspect to it. These kids would need love and support, as the first humans born on this world. Hell, _she_ needed love and support right now, and Dr. Mann was not, and didn’t seem to ever be, ready to give it. To anyone.

“You can’t just use science and theory right now, okay?” Amelia said sharply. “You’ve got to see the human side to all of this. These kids are gonna need affection and attachment, not cold hard logic.”

Dr. Mann sighed. “Dr. Brand,” he began, and the formality of his tone made her realise she had made a mistake by provoking him. “I am very aware of that. I am also aware that having multiple older children will serve the colony well, because we can then care for the younger infants while the older ones care for their own. We could handle far more children that way than if we were alone.”

“Dr. Mann—.”

“If something happens to us, how will the colony survive? Better have the teenaged ones have children of their own to continue the cycle of human life without us—.”

“ _DR. MANN!”_ Amelia shouted. “These are not…these kids aren’t going to be a goddamn science experiment!” She bit her lip, trying not to cry. “I get that we’ve got to populate the planet as fast as possible. But understand that these kids need a chance to grow up and become productive adults! They’re not just there for the sake of reproduction.”

“That’s what humans are _here_ for, Amelia. You’d rather wait decades for natural repopulation?” Dr. Mann shot back. “Till there’s every chance in the world we’ll be dead? Unable to execute this plan with any form of genetic diversity?”

“No,” she countered, now fighting tears, “but I sure as hell don’t want a planet full of kids as fucked in the head as you!”

Instantly she knew she’d gone too far and struck a sensitive part of him. He looked as though she’d physically hit him, the air knocked out of his lungs. He stared at his feet silently for a moment, and then lifted his head to gaze into her eyes. “You’re right,” he told her. “I don’t want these kids to go through what I did. I want them to be as fortunate as you—to always have someone to care about them.”

He turned around and walked back to his tent. Amelia desperately wanted to say something, to tell him how sorry she was, how she did understand—and then kicked herself. It was a stupid thing to tell him. She didn’t really understand. You could know how all the parts of a car worked and not know how to drive; likewise, you could know what isolation did to a human being, but not truly comprehend what it did to your mind.

Nor _would_ she ever understand. What Dr. Mann had endured would always be a part of him, and he kept it to himself because to retell it was to go back there, to that planet, alone, cold, terrified. And as desperately as she wanted to tell him how she wanted more than anything for him to talk to her, she knew he would not. It was for him and his memory alone.

It was tragic, really, once she thought about it. Dr. Mann had worked his whole life to save the human race, but he couldn’t save himself.


	9. Chapter 9

Mann felt his body slam to the cold, hard icy ground. Suddenly Cooper was on top of him, smashing his helmet into Mann’s, over and over, until it gave way. Mann felt the cold air rushing in, his chest tightening at the lack of oxygen on his planet, as his body fought to keep the ammonia and chlorine out. He felt his head grow light; his vision blur; his limbs grow weak, until…

“Gah!” Mann cried, his eyes opening, the nightmare dissipating. He sat up in the dark of the night, drenched in sweat, panting, still smelling the ammonia on his planet. And then, creeping into his mind, he finally felt it: remorse, regret. He had just felt what Cooper had the day of his death. His murder, at Mann’s hands.

Mann began sobbing, dropping his head in his hands, the reality of what he’d done finally sinking in. Now safe, on Edmunds, Mann had no need for the survival instinct that had driven him to kill Cooper. Mann’s mind was able to grasp the gravity of his actions, what he’d done to get off of that icy prison.

“Dr. Mann?” he heard Amelia’s voice ask outside of his habitat. She let herself in and he could make out her silhouette in the dark, walking towards him. “What’s wr—?”

“I’m sorry,” Mann whispered, needing to be held accountable for what he’d done to somebody “I—I did it.”

“What? Did what?”

“Cooper,” Mann said even more softly. “I…”

Amelia was even closer to him now, and sat down on the ground beside his cot. She turned on the lantern which provided some dim light with which Mann could see Amelia’s eyes focusing on his face, her expression blank. Finally, she sighed. “I know,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Mann repeated, feeling tears fill his eyes again. “I just…I just needed to get away from there…and…I—.”

“Humans are strange,” Amelia interrupted, placing her hand on Mann’s shoulder, rubbing it soothingly on his back. “All this time…I knew, I knew you did it. And I was pissed. I was angry. But…after I got here and found Wolf…I realised I couldn’t be angry anymore. Because I’ve already told you about my survival instinct and how it extended to him. And I asked myself…what does one do when they have no one worth living for but themselves?

“We’re social creatures. I know that, you know that. That need to be with other people drove me to be with Wolf. And it drove Cooper to try and go home to his kids. And…it—it drove you to try and get away from the isolation. At all costs.”

“He loved his kids,” Mann breathed, remembering how intensely Cooper had wanted to go home to be with them. Mann almost wished he’d had attachments, someone worth living for besides his own cowardly self.

Amelia nodded, seeming to read his mind. Mann looked at her, deep in thought, her expression unreadable. She turned around to face him and smiled sadly. “I never went through what you did. And I can’t say for certain, Dr. Mann,” she said eventually, “that I wouldn’t have done the same as you.”

Humans are strange, she’d said. We were. We are complex, intricate beings, prone to sudden bursts of emotion and adrenaline, and to doing things we didn’t know we were capable of. And circumstances can change a person in the blink of an eye, or over a lifetime. They’d done it to Mann in unimaginable ways.

Such as that moment, when he felt himself overcome with emotion, longing for affection, for attachment. For Amelia Brand. He leaned in and kissed her gently, the lantern’s light illuminating her lips. He didn’t even know how to do it properly, didn’t even think about what she’d do or say. He wanted someone, he wanted her.

No, needed her.


	10. Chapter 10

Amelia had not gone into Dr. Mann’s habitat expecting anything in particular; she’d heard his sobs and merely wanted to make sure he was alright, especially after what she’d said to him—well, as alright as one could be after an ordeal such as his.

She hadn’t felt anything for any of her other crew members, despite her longing for someone to hold her, to comfort her. She had not wanted to feel anything, not with even the slightest possibility that Wolf was still alive, even if she knew it wasn’t the truth.

And now, with the realisation—although more like a confirmation—that Wolf was gone, she had allowed herself to let go, to feel, to realise how much she had taken human companionship for granted, finally able to understand, to some extent, what Dr. Mann had felt. For every moment she was alone on this planet was frightening, unsettling for her. And she knew she wasn’t alone...but this feeling of uneasiness had let her comprehend, even on a slight level, Dr. Mann’s motivations for what he’d done.

She didn’t know what part of her made her not push him away as her kissed her, but instead reciprocate his actions. It had been years since she’d had any form of sensual contact and for a moment she almost forgot it was with NASA’s best and brightest, focusing only on how safe and loved she felt. She turned her body towards him and framed his face with her thin, delicate hands. Dr. Mann wrapped his arms around her waist until she was on top of him, the kiss no longer just that but a long, passionate embrace.

Suddenly, it hit her, and she knew: this was only an effect of the solitude. We cling to anything, anyone, for comfort if we are desperate enough. It is human nature; we are social beings. Amelia knew that she would not be doing this with Dr. Mann if there were others on this planet.

But this was someone she’d known for years. Someone she’d respected and cared about far before this mission. He was not a complete stranger, and that sole fact made her want to believe her heart had to have had a part in this as much as her mind—right?

She couldn’t tell, and at that moment, didn’t care.

“Dr. Mann,” she breathed, their lips finally parting. “I—.”

“No, Amelia,” he whispered. “Call me Everett.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue of sorts, set several years after the initial landing on Edmunds.

_She looks at the orange sky, the glowing of the black hole’s accretion disk warming her face. It’s early, far earlier than she would normally wake, but her boy was stirring by her side, kicking his delicate little feet into her back. He’ll be turning two in just a few weeks, she remembers, and thinks about how long she’s been here, on a new planet, in charge of populating it._

_She looks at_ him, _sleeping soundly, holding tight to their baby girl. She realises she loves him, but it is a sad love, she knows, born out of necessity and not true, one-in-a-million love. She had not chosen him, he had not chosen her; they had been placed here and made of it what they had to._

_She knows that her love for him is real, but in the back of her mind, constantly wonders the what ifs: would she have fallen in love with him if they had not been the last humans on Edmunds?_

_Or had she had feelings for him long before the mission, and circumstances had simply made her act upon them?_

_She doesn’t know, and may very well never know. And only recently has she allowed herself to not care. She loves him, and doesn’t want to wonder the why any longer._

_Her son runs outside around their camp, wearing nothing but a cloth diaper, his feet squishing the soft earth beneath them. She leaves to catch up to him, but then turns around to look briefly at the sleeping figure under the sheets of their bed. She walks on the tips of her toes as not to wake him, then gently leans in and kisses his head, smelling the sweet sweat on his brow, hearing his rhythmic breathing._

_Feigning sleep, he feels her kiss, his arms still strong around their sleeping daughter. He does not want her to endure the lack of attachments he put himself through; no, he wants her to feel love, to experience it without restraints, without consequences._

_He thinks back to when he left Earth, when he landed on that planet, alone for decades. He recalls the aching loneliness, the pain of a survival instinct facing the impossible. He doesn’t want to remember, but some nights he can’t help it, the memories rushing back to him with a vengeance, and he wonders whether he’d do it all again, knowing he’d end up where he is today: with_ her _, with two children._

_No, he answers himself each time. But he is satisfied with the outcome._

_He sits up slowly, gently laying his baby girl on the soft pillow beside him, and hears the laughing child outside, knowing she must be chasing him, maybe trying fruitlessly to make breakfast for the four of them._

_He recalls their first kiss, and the ones following it. He recalls the first time they’d successfully incubated an embryo, never doubting for a moment it was their own. He recalls holding his little girl in his arms for the first time._

_And he remembers her kiss from just five minutes ago._

_He was not alone any longer. And he had done it, and it had been worth it. He had completed the mission. With_ her _._

_He had to be satisfied with that._

 


End file.
